


069 - Body Pos Fic

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert, body pos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 04:50:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17440268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “I was basically wondering if you’d do a story about Van dating a bigger girl”





	069 - Body Pos Fic

**Author's Note:**

> I know Van was only fifteen when Catfish were first played on the radio by Steve Lamacq, but I’m pretending that he was older for the sake of this fic.

You had started the internship at the radio station a little over a month ago. It had paved the way for a lifestyle you could have only ever dreamed of. Yes, there were early morning rises, and yes, you spent a lot of time running to get coffee and photocopying pages. However, you also got to meet a lot of amazing and influential people, listen to music all day, and Steve Lamacq took a real shine to you. He'd call you over and get you to listen to a song, trusting your opinion.

It was a Friday when you were called to stand in front of Steve's desk. He pressed play and an unfamiliar song lit the room up in a messy, grungy but somehow romantic sound. "It's sleazy," he said and he meant it as a compliment. You agreed. You said you liked the simplicity of the structure, and how their core sound wasn't hidden by production tricks. You both thought there was something special about the singer's voice. The CD came to rest on Steve's good pile, and he asked you to call the band in.

You waited in the lobby for them the following Monday. You could see your reflection in the clean windows. In the morning you'd put on a black high waisted skirt, and baby pink crop top that read 'beat it creep.' There were a few inches of skin between them, and if you bent over or sat it would roll. You pretended to not care, but you did a little bit. A champion of body positivity (or at least a champion in training) you wore outfits regardless of body shape. When the girl in the store asked if the crop top was for a friend, you wanted to buy ten. Despite the self-love, you still opted to wait standing. If you sat, who knows how wide your thighs would spread on the seat.

Two guys walked through the door, and it was clear they were in a band. They had that stupid leather-clad confidence. You caught them before they reached the reception desk.

"Hi. Catfish?" you asked. They both smiled and glanced at each other. Clearly this was all new to them, and they were in love with the idea of being collectively referred to by their band name. Catfish and the Bottlemen. You hoped an explanation for that one would come up later.

"Yeah. I'm Van. This is Benji," one of them introduced, holding his hand out politely.

You took them up to a conference room and left them with water, which Van was drinking by the glassful. Benji seemed less nervous. There were speakers throughout the whole floor which played the station. You left the speakers in the conference room on upon Steve's request. He had five minutes left on air, then he'd meet Van and Benji. You sat at a desk and watched them through the glass wall. Van stood and looked around the room. He pointed to the speaker and started to say something, maybe tell a story, to Benji. You heard it then. Steve was playing one of their tracks on air. You couldn't miss this. You knocked on the door and walked in. Van immediately walked around the oval table and bundled you up in a hug.

"This is fucking class. I can't- This- Fuck," he said into your hair. His arms were long and you let him have his moment. Benji watched, laughing. Van let you go, and you congratulated them. "Steve fucking Lamacq, man."

A few minutes later Steve appeared at the door and shook hands with a more reserved Van and Benji. They were trying their best to be professional. You internally laughed at the idea. Van's hair looked like a fucking mushroom, and Benji's curls were knotted at the back where they'd twisted up in his sleep. You wondered if either of them were wearing matching socks. You went to leave the room, but Steve asked you to stay. You nodded and took a seat next to him.

Van and Benji's love for music and their determination to make their band big was evident. You could see it, Steve could see it, anyone watching the meeting through the transparent walls could see it. You watched Steve fall in love with them, and you knew they'd just earned themselves their first lifelong fan. When Van explained that they wanted to be huge, like, stadium huge, because why would you aim for anything less, Steve smiled wide.

After the meeting, you walked them downstairs. Van thanked you like you were more than an intern, then he nodded at Benji. Benji smiled and said goodbye, walking through the lobby doors out onto the street. Van looked at you for a second.

"Is there… something else I can help you with?" you asked, confused at his hesitation.

"Yeah… I, uh, figure it's my lucky day, right? Didn't miss my bus. Lammo's a fan. Might as well keep the ball rollin', right?" He was still such a baby, but no younger than you. He looked soft and full of hope. You thought about how he'd fair in the harsh work of rock stardom. He seemed level-headed though. You nodded as he spoke. "So, I was wondering if you maybe wanted to come get a drink with me when you finish work? Celebrate and all that?" He waited a few beats for you to reply, but you didn't. Maybe you were in shock. "Um… the rest of the band will be there, so you could count it as work? Report back to Steve? If you want. I mean, sorry, this is probably like, a thing you can't do because of work anyway, right? I'm sorry. I'll go. Sorry, love," and he started to turn.

"Wait!" you said too loudly, your brain finally snapping into action when it accepted that a good thing was happening. "Yes. Sorry. I, uh, just spaced out. Yeah. I'd love to,"

"Really?"

"Yes." And, yes. Very yes. As he asked when you finished and told you he'd wait out front, you let yourself notice all the pretty things about him. You didn't before, because you never do. If you don't let yourself feel attraction, if you look for the flaws in people, then you won't feel desire and you won't face rejection. It was a simple formula that had kept you safe ever since your thighs started to rub together and over the knee socks wouldn't stay up. But, Van had asked you out. Maybe he was looking for connections, maybe not. His eyelashes and polite manners alone were enough to take the risk.

…

You found Van leaning against the building. He was still in the same striped t-shirt and leather jacket. He smiled when he saw you and it was all teeth and happy. As you walked through the city streets Van told you about the rest of his little world; about dropping out of school and his wonderful parents. He asked you about the internship and what the dream was. He asked what Steve was really like, and you were glad to report he was exactly as he presented.

You got to a pub and there was a table out front occupied by people you assumed were the band. Benji was there, and he got up and greeted you with a hug. The others were equally as excited and stoked. If there was a list of all the little human experiences that were kind of magic, the feeling of being in awe of someone and have them simultaneously be in awe of you would be on it. You thought the boys were amazing. They were talented and bold, and each individually brought something to the group. They were clearly smitten with your presence at drinks too. They asked you questions about the station and the people you'd met and anything else that popped into their heads. They spoke with a charming unfiltered curiosity, and you felt at ease around them. 

As the sun set and the streetlights came on, Van leant in close. "Hungry? Do you want to go get some food; just us?" Importantly, yes, you were hungry. You'd not eaten since lunch. Also important was the absolute want to go anywhere with Van, just the two of you. However, the tightness in your body and the hot prickling feeling across your skin told you that you didn't want to eat food around him. It was a symptom of society, and you knew who you wanted to be - someone that would say yes immediately and eat a big bowl of pasta happily in front of him. You didn't know if you could be that though. 

You were frozen again and Van waited longer, having learnt from the first time. He breathed in, ready to take it back and give you an out for the second time. You didn't want him to, so you acted like the person you wanted to be. 

"Yeah, sure!" You tried to make your voice sound bubbly, upbeat, carefree. He smiled and nodded. You said goodbye to the guys, and walked side by side with Van. 

...

He let you pick where you'd go, and you opted for Thai. While waiting for the food to arrive, the conversation flowed naturally. He listened to you talk about your favourite films with his elbows rested on the table. He was staring at you with a glassy expression. You stopped speaking. 

"What?" 

"Sorry!" He sat up straighter and his hands dropped into his lap. "I just like listening to ya talk." You didn't know what to say, so you smiled in reply. The food arrived, and you took small slow bites. Van ate through three spring rolls in the time it took you to eat one. He slowed down when he noticed. "You not hungry?" he asked. 

"Oh, no, I just eat slow," you replied. He nodded suspiciously. The ginger stir-fry was good. Van returned to his original staring position. 

"I like your top," he said. You looked down and nodded. 

"Girl in the store didn't want to sell it to me," you replied automatically before you could catch yourself. 

"Why?" 

"Uh... I guess because it's short and doesn't suit my body type," you answered, using air quotation marks for 'suit' and 'body type.' Van's eyebrows came together in genuine confusion. 

"But, you look well fit?" It was clear, like all the things that came from Van's mouth, he was speaking truthfully. He called it how he saw it, and you had already come to that conclusion before he said you were 'well fit.' It left you with no other option than to believe what he said. 

"Thanks,"

"I like your hair too,"

"Thank you. Are we just gonna list things about me you li-"

"And don't take this the wrong way, but when I was watching you walk around the station this morning, I, uh," he paused to look for the right words. "You have a really great butt." You laughed out loud. "I ain't joking, Y/N." You could feel your cheeks go red and you didn't know where to focus your attention. You looked back up and Van was eating another spring roll. He winked at you as he chewed. You ate the rest of the ginger stir-fry and salt and pepper tofu with reckless abandon. 

...

Steve noticed that you were dressed up in the same way a father would. He looked at you differently all morning, then over morning tea he said, "What's the occasion?" You couldn't hide the smile, and you told him you had your third date with Van. He gave you a knowing nod. After the first night out, which didn't count as a proper date according to Van, you went with him to see a film. He drove you home and walked you to your front door. The second date was dinner, then he took you to a house party being thrown by someone he didn't really know. He held your hand all night. The third date was an unknown. Van said you needed to wear something special, and he'd pick you up straight from work. 

Kathleen played on the radio three times that day, and each time you sent Van a message to let him know. He wrote back that he was having the best day of his life. An overstatement, but regardless you were happy that he was happy. 

As you got into the front seat of his car when he pulled up out front, he beamed at you and said, "Just keeps getting better and better. Look at you, babe." 

You were in fishnet stockings that came up visibly higher than the black tube skirt that sat on top of them. You had a long sleeve velvet crop top on, also black. Your red heart shaped glasses matched the ruby ballet flats on your feet. "You told me to dress up," you stated. 

"Yeah. And you did. And you look-"

"Fit?" you interrupted with the adjective most directed at you by him. 

"I was gonna say beautiful, but if you want to get sleazy, sweetheart, go ahead." 

You never used to blush that much, but Van changed that. You probably wouldn't have worn a skirt so tight without a shirt to cover the swell of your tummy before him either, but there you were. Van pulled out onto the road and started to drive. You couldn't guess where you were going. 

…

There was a bakery on the other side of town you were obsessed with. You tried to be lowkey about it to Van; you didn't want him to think you ate as much pastry as physically possible. He pulled up in front of it and got out without saying anything. A sign on the door read 'closed for private function' and your heart missed a beat. Van opened your door and when you didn't move, he leant in, unbuckled your seat belt, and pulled you out of the car. You held his hand as he knocked on the bakery's door. 

A man in literally the most stereotypical baker's outfit greeted you both. He had clearly met Van before and ushered you both in quickly. The store was illuminated by fairy lights, and a table in the middle of the floor was lit with candles. It was set for two. Van held your chair out for you, then sat opposite. You still hadn't spoken.

"This evening we have three courses for you," the baker started. "Entree will be savoury mixed palmiers. For the main course, we have a four cheese, cranberry and potato puff pastry tart. And for dessert, a sweet pastry tasting platter." You watched him pour freshly brewed tea into antique tea cups. You could feel yourself avoiding eye contact with Van. When the baker disappeared into the back, you still couldn't form words. 

"Y/N? Are you okay? If you don't want to-" he started. 

"How did you know about this place?" It wasn't the most reassuring thing you could have said to him. His face was stuck in a frown. 

"You know how Steve came round to that rehearsal the other day? We had drinks just down the road after, and he pointed this place out. Said you had converted the whole station." It was thoughtful and cute and it had probably cost him a lot. "You don't look happy," 

"No, Van, I am, I'm just... in shock or something,"

"Okay..." He still looked sad. He probably thought that it was the best thing he'd ever done for a girl, and that you'd be ecstatic. He was precious and beautiful and you wanted to feel more than apprehension at eating so much buttery food. You should not have worn such a tight outfit. You predicted your stomach would start to make the bubbly sound soon after too. "You're not, like, worried about eating in front of me are you?" The sentence had started unsure but as it rolled out his mouth it picked up speed and confidence. You sucked in your bottom lip and started to panic about potentially crying. "Babe," Van said, and stood up. He pulled you to stand too. He put his arms around you and forced you into a hug. "I, like, proper like you, yeah? And I don't know any other ways of telling you that I think you're beautiful and that I am just, like, excited to think you're maybe one day gonna let me touch you. You are perfect and I just want you to be happy and if you love this pastry stuff so much then I'm gonna need you to eat it for me, alright?" 

In all likelihood, it was a rhetorical question, and if you had answered with 'no, not alright' then Van probably wouldn't have known what to do. 

"Pastry stuff?" you laughed. 

"Y/N! I'm being serious! Talking about feelings!" 

"I'm sorry," you made a joke of a straight face. 

"You're perfect, get me?" 

"I get you," 

"Okay," but he didn't let you go. He left one hand on your back in the hug and lifted his other to your face. He squished your cheeks together between his thumb and his index finger so that your lips stuck out. He kissed you and it was adorable and playful and not at all how you'd think he'd kissed based on his messy hair and guitar-string-calloused hands. You sat back down and the baker delivered the first course. Throughout the night Van learnt a little more about the wonderful world of baked goods, and you settled into your skin and let it be loved.


End file.
